


Price for Flight

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crisis of Faith, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Musician Dean, Priest Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel occasionally allows unfortunate folk to board in the spare room at his parsonage. He never thought one of those unfortunate souls could change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price for Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fic_me_senseless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fic_me_senseless/gifts).



With a sigh, Cas straightens up the hymnals in the tiny rows of pews, picking up debris left behind. The only person left from the congregation is Mrs. Ellicot, still saying her Rosary for the poor souls of Purgatory. Cas waits patiently until the old woman gives a soft little sound and stands, collecting her things. He walks her to the door, bidding her well until the next service. Her little Buick eases out of the dirt parking lot, and Cas is finally alone. 

 

Locking up doesn’t take long with the cleaning already done. He has the whole day in front of him, and not a bit of motivation to put it to use. His little garden needs weeded and watered, Bijou’s litterbox surely needs cleaned, and he has paperwork to do. 

 

Just the thought of paperwork sends him into the garden when he gets home, more comfortable in his old jeans and worn tee than his vestments. It feels good to have dirt under his fingertips, hard work more cleansing and uplifting than his sermons have felt for weeks. Shoving the thought away, he works until he’s sweaty and covered in grime, even taking the time to weed along the edge of the fence and in the flower beds around front. 

 

To his surprise, there’s a man sitting on his porch, a worn duffle by his feet and a guitar case propped up next to the chair he’s commandeered. It’s not unusual for people to just drop by, but strangers are less frequent occurrences. 

 

“Hello,” Cas says calmly. 

 

“Hey Padre. Lady down at the C-Store says you might have a place for a fella passing through to crash for the night?” 

 

Ah of course. Laura never could resist a sob story. She’d sent many an unfortunate person Cas’ way in the time he’d been in this town. 

 

“I’m not a Father, but yes. I have a spare room if you need a place to stay for a night or two.” 

 

The man grins then, revealing straight white teeth and a multitude of laugh lines around his eyes. “‘Preciate it. I can work, if you want me to, anything you want.” Cas could almost swear there’s a teeny bit of leer in the words, but he brushes it off. “I’m Dean, by the way.” 

 

“Castiel, and perhaps tomorrow. Come, I’ll show you where you can sleep.” 

 

“Pretty chancy takin’ in anybody off the street,” Dean remarks, following Cas into the quaint little house the parish had furnished for him. 

 

“We aim to help those in need and pray for those who would take advantage.” Dean snorts at Cas’ words but doesn’t say more. He leans his guitar case up against the wall and plonks his duffel on the bed. 

 

“The sheets are fresh. I keep the room clean in the event of visitors. If you’d like, you may join me for supper.” 

 

Dean lights up at the mention of food, and Cas is grateful he’d remembered to take ground beef out to thaw earlier. His relief doesn’t last long when Dean makes some kind of pained sounding nose and Cas finds a look of distress on the man’s face when he turns around. 

 

“You ah, don’t cook much do you?” Dean says weakly. 

 

“I cook for myself, and find that my food suffices.” 

 

“Would you mind if I -” Dean gestures at the meat on the counter and Cas nods.

 

“By all means.” 

 

It’s interesting to watch Dean dig around in his cupboards and refrigerator, mumbling to himself and mixing various seasoning into the meat by hand. He heats the pan and molds the patties with his hand, the room filling with the scent of cooking as he watches the patties carefully. He digs a little head of lettuce and a block of cheese out of the fridge, putting together a tiny salad and slicing the cheese to lay on the burgers just before he pulls them out of the pan. 

 

Cas nearly moans at the first bite, and he can see Dean grinning around his own mouthful of food. 

 

“Good huh?” the other man manages through the food in his mouth. 

 

“Very. Thank you.” 

 

“It’d be better with onions and tomato, but gift horses and all.” Dean eats ravenously, crunching down the lettuce between bites of burger in a way that makes Cas wonder just how long the man had gone without eating. Dean even insists on doing the dishes, scrubbing them clean and stacking them in the drain. 

 

He heads back to his room, leaving Cas with only the option of paperwork. He settles on his couch, balancing his work on  his knees. Bijou comes padding in, little bell on her collar tinkling as she bounds up onto the couch next to Cas, curling up on the cushion next to him and purring. He manages to concentrate for an hour or so until he finds himself staring blankly at the paper, one hand buried in his cat’s fur. 

 

Somehow, Cas winds up at the kitchen table, untouched glass of scotch in front of him; the bottle had been a gift, one he’d left unopened until now. Damn, how did it come to this? Where had his faith, his desire to do good, his will to look after his flock in the name of the Father gone? Somewhere along the way, he’d grown sullen, finding it harder to reach out both to his congregation and to God until the only time he truly prayed was during his services. 

 

“Didn’t take you for a drinker, Padre.” Dean’s voice startles him, and he nearly spills the entire glass on the floor. The man’s face is free of judgement, laced with curiosity and - surprisingly - concern. 

 

“I didn’t either,” Cas admits. “I’d never considered it before, but now . . .” 

 

He trails off as Dean moves around the table, getting his own glass and pouring himself a couple of fingers. The man drags out a chair and joins Cas at the table; he grimaces after the first sip of liquor and Cas can’t quite the stop the laugh that escapes him. 

 

“M’not much of one either. At least, not anymore. My dad used to hit the bottle hard, sometimes. Losin’  Mom was hard on him and he didn’t cope too well. I always swore I’d never be like him, but a couple years ago I woke up in a jail cell in a city I couldn’t remember the name of. Quit cold turkey after that.” Dean takes another sip, holding it in his mouth before swallowing it down. “Sometimes you don’t know that you’re going down the wrong road until you realize you’re lost, you know? And it’s pretty rough trying to find your way back.’ 

 

“I did it though. Made up with my brother; that’s who m’going to see. Kid lives in California, damn long way from Kansas, let me tell you.” Dean grins, and Cas offers a small smile in return. “Figure maybe I can get a job there, help the kid while he’s in school. Smart as a whip, Sammy is.” 

 

Draining the last of his scotch, Dean thunks the empty glass back down on the table. “There’s a lot of roads out there, Padre. Some of ‘em lead back, some don’t. You just gotta pick one and keep on walkin’.” 

 

Cas stares a little longer at the amber liquid in his glass, pondering Dean’s words even as the sound of the man’s snores start up down the hallway. With a sigh, he picks up the glass and downs it in one go, coughing as the liquor burns on its way down. 

 

Dean’s making breakfast when Cas finally rolls out of bed, stumbling right for the fresh coffee. He’d barely been able to sleep, tossing and turning until he’d passed out around 3 am. They eat in companionable silence, Dean asking if there’s anything Cas needs done. In the end, they wind up hauling out the brush and weeds that Cas had gathered the day before, and Dean gets fed up with the drippy kitchen sink crawling under it when Cas’ meager supply of tools to fix it. 

 

“Don’t wanna seem like a freeloader,”  Dean murmurs over supper, “but do you think I could -” 

 

“That bed is yours for as long as you need it, Dean,” Cas assures him. Honestly, if Dean keeps cooking for him like  this - baked chicken and potato wedges - the man can stay forever. Cas can feel his lips quirk at the stir that would cause in his tiny parish, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean. 

 

“Somethin’ funny?” 

 

“I’m just thinking.” 

 

Dean looks curious, but doesn’t press. 

 

A couple of days turn into a couple weeks that turn into the entire summer. In the end, they leave Cas’ house together. Cas has a duffel of his own now, all of the worldly possessions he cares to cart with him in it. Bijou follows alongside them, kept in check by the tiny lead Cas has her on. They pick up the bus in the next town over, Dean having picked up odd jobs here and there from the members of the congregation and his brother Sam pitching in the last of the money to get them to California. 

 

“You’re lucky we have a two bedroom,” Sam had said, laughing brightly. “Let me know when you get here, we’ll come pick you up.” 

 

There’s a gig at the bar Sam works at part-time waiting for Dean and a new church waiting for Cas. Getting everything to line up had taken time and a lot of juggling; Cas is grateful to leave this tiny town and the new rumors circulating around it with him. Dean falls asleep around midnight, head lolling against Cas’ shoulder. Cas watches as the lights flicker over Dean’s face, Bijou purring even inside her carrier. 

 

He leans back in his seat, determined to get some sleep; putting in an earbud, he turns on the tiny mp3 Dean had given him. His boyfriend’s soft voice trickles from the speaker, and Cas sighs in contentment. 


End file.
